October 31st, 2018 § permalink
The North Side was a blur, as it should have been. I tried to play catch-up after lingering so long on the South. I was out of energy, out of sweat, felt bile rising in my stomach and my legs burned. I do OK for what I am, but I was not in shape for this weekend warrior nonsense.
And I couldn’t stop laughing.
Down some water. Laugh. Dip among traffic. Laugh. Cram an energy bar and stop by the tampon boxes, fast food wrappers and museum-pimping statuary that pool along the spot the Roosevelt Road bridge overlooks both river and the vacant Rezkoville and I laugh laugh laugh. » Read the rest of this entry «
February 21st, 2018 § permalink
I’m not here to talk about the racism. Better men than I have that covered.
I’m not here to talk about bullying in media, or about liberals who use people of color as proof of purchase for ideology.
I’m not here to join the chorus of thinkpieces saying the Chicago Reader’s cover using a lawn jockey to symbolize black voters is really about this and that is really about that. This is really about what Adeshina Emmanuel said it was about — racism both overt and covert, a decision-making process that put a bully in command and the media’s desire for black men’s voices so long as the black men say what they’re expected. I have no words to add to that.
My sole purpose in this non-thinkpiece thinkpiece is to remind Chicago writers how to use a metaphor. » Read the rest of this entry «
January 20th, 2017 § permalink
It couldn’t have been the big blue purse.
It was large, made of a plastic that apes leather, and bright. Crayon-bright blue on the Green Line.
It couldn’t have been the gleaming white sneakers either, the ones bedazzled with the line of rhinestones that curled into two little hearts as it snaked across her metatarsus. She tapped one foot gently, almost nodding it as the train pulled out of the former manufacturing district that’s now the spot for the hottest of hot restaurants.
It couldn’t have been the blue jeans with the six metal buttons pulling each cuff into the perfect skinny cut either.
No, it must have been the piece of cloth on her head that makes her hated. » Read the rest of this entry «
